Little Talks
by kuzupekos
Summary: You ask him what's wrong. He squats beside your futon and asks what you think of him. [Kuzupeko. Pre-Despair.]


**little talks**

He enters your dorm room in the middle of the night. You wake up immediately, reaching for your sword before you realize it's him. You ask him what's wrong. He squats beside your futon and asks what you think of him.

"You are a good master and a noble man," you say, choosing your words with care.

He doesn't seem to like this response. "No," he says emphatically. "I mean, what do you… You know. How do you feel about me?"

"I feel protective of you."

"That's not what I meant."

"I'm afraid I do not understand, Young Master."

You swear you can see his face turn a bit red, though it's hard to be certain in the dim light. "Idiot," he mumbles. "It's just, I've been thinking about this shit lately, and I… I dunno. I think about you a lot."

You remain silent, patiently waiting for him to continue.

"…And I just… Ah, goddammit! …Fuck this."

He gets up and storms out of your room, muttering that you should keep the door locked, for Christ's sake. You stare at the doorway for a while after he's gone.

From then on, you make sure to leave your door unlocked at night.

* * *

Two nights later he's back, sitting at the foot of your futon. You watch him carefully. Why has he turned up again? He's usually extremely predictable, at least to you, and while you anticipated he might stop by again, you're at a loss as to why he feels the need to converse with you, at midnight at that.

"So… You remember that Misaki girl from fifth grade?"

"I believe so, yes."

"You remember how I was always kind of picking on her and acting dumb around her?"

"You were not acting dumb."

"Yeah I was! …It was 'cause I kind of…"

"…You felt an attraction towards her."

"Eh?!"

You realize quickly that your words were out of line. You apologize quietly and look down. He's silent for a moment longer before speaking again.

"…Yeah, I guess… I mean, it was just a dumb kiddie crush, there was nothing to it, alright?"

"Yes, Young Master."

"Stop calling me that!"

"…I apologize, but I cannot do that."

"Shit for brains…"

Once again, he gets up and leaves in a huff.

* * *

"D'you ever look in the mirror?"

"Yes."

"…What do you think?"

"I take note if anything appears messy or out of place."

"No, dumbass. You know how girls are, right?"

You stare at him blankly. Apparently he has a better understanding of what girls are like than you do.

"…Always looking in mirrors and thinking about how pretty or ugly they look?"

"I do not think about either of those things."

"Why the hell not?"

"…I am not a good judge of such things."

"Nobody is, far as I know. So you don't even think about it?"

"No."

"You're so damn weird."

"I am sorry."

"Don't be."

* * *

You're tired tonight, but he shows up anyway, and begins a long rant about his hatred of math. You struggle to stay awake as he closes in on half an hour of one-sided speech.

"And Sato-sensei doesn't even grade the damn homework, he just looks it over like the lazy fucker he is and probably tosses it in the river or something. Bastard."

"Bocchan…"

"What?"

"I am…very sorry, but I have had an exhausting day…"

He stares at you silently. You try to read his face… Is it surprise? Indignation? Damn this poor lighting.

"…I'm sorry. That was out of line."

He shakes his head. "No, that was… Yeah, I'll get out of here. Night, Peko."

"Goodnight, Young Master."

* * *

You sit facing him with your legs crossed as he rambles about the condition of your dorm room.

"Fuckers didn't even bother to pay for a proper bed…"

"I am comfortable on a futon, Young Master."

"I don't give a shit if you're comfortable on a futon!"

He continues on his one-sided spew of indignation, gradually slowing to a halt. He looks at you. You look back. He lets out an irritated noise and looks away.

He's visibly nervous as he scoots closer to your futon. You tilt your head very slightly, but you don't speak. He holds out his hand. Looking down at it, you see rings, gifts from his father, on his fingers. You look back up at him.

"Peko."

"Yes, Bocchan?"

He glances down at his extended hand, then looks back at you. Oh. He wants something. But you aren't sure what, so you continue to look at him somewhat apologetically until he sighs with irritation and takes your hand in his. His face looks red, though it's hard to tell for sure.

"Idiot."

His fingers are laced between yours. You stare at the two hands, noticing that, in the dim light, they almost look like one object, connecting the two of you together.

You can feel your pulse in the palm of your hand. You hope he can't feel it too.

* * *

You know tonight is different when he hands you a chocolate bar.

"Thank you, Bocchan," you say politely. You hate chocolate.

"Yeah. Um. Yeah, whatever. There you go. Hope you like it."

He's standing with his hands stuffed in his pockets, avoiding eye contact.

Several awkward minutes pass in silence.

"Well, are you gonna eat it or not?!"

"Oh. Yes. My apologies."

You grimace inwardly and begin to unwrap the chocolate.

"Wait, no, no, wait, put it away."

He's certainly agitated tonight. You set the candy aside and eye him sternly as he sits down beside the futon, legs crossed at the ankles, wringing his hands together. He glances at you for a moment and scoffs.

"What's that look for?"

"Is something troubling you, Bocchan?"

"Why the fuck would something be troubling me?!"

"I don't know. I apologize for ask-"

It happens so quickly you don't quite catch it until it's over. He kisses you and sputters out that he loves you. In your dazed confusion you answer him with an empty stare and silence. He wipes his mouth and leaves the room in embarrassment, grunting, "You should start locking your door, shithead."

* * *

You don't speak to him again for a long time, though you keep a distant eye on him, as always. You try to push the lingering thoughts of your last conversation away, though they crawl back every so often and nest in your brain like a parasite.

* * *

The lights turn on and you sit upright, blinking and reaching for your sword.

"Peko."

You freeze.

"I thought I told you to start locking your damn door."

"I'm sorry, Bocchan."

"I thought I told you to stop calling me that."

You bow your head, not certain how to respond. You sense him walking towards you and keep your head lowered as he kneels over your legs. He lifts your chin up gently, and you blink once, eyes adjusting to the light.

"Your face is pink."

"Is it?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry, Bocchan."

"The hell you apologizing for?"

Silence. He gets up and walks back to the door and you almost say something, but you bite your tongue. To your surprise, he doesn't leave; he merely turns the lock and flicks the light off before walking back over and flopping down next to you, back facing you.

"I'm not sleeping in an unlocked room. Bodyguard or no bodyguard."

You look down at him, still at a loss for words.

"You staying up all night? Lie down, idiot."

You lie down and stare at the ceiling.

"…Goodnight, Bocchan."

"Don't call me that."

"I am sorry."

"…'Night, Peko."


End file.
